


toy soldiers.

by projectfreelancer



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10362387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectfreelancer/pseuds/projectfreelancer
Summary: odin has been a soldier his entire life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: for incestuous sexual abuse (heavily implied) & for the entire thing being about being a child soldier basically
> 
> just my interpretation of Odin's childhood

(You are ten when you learn about the pride that sleeps in your veins.

Your brother watches you, gun tucked into his hand, snake-esque sneer on his face. You have nightmares of snakes, when your close eyes, and they bite down, clamp tight, and—

“Your aiming is getting worse,” the snake says.

“I-I’m,” and you have trouble saying it, been having trouble saying _anything_ lately, “Trying my hardest.”

“Your hardest is just not good enough then.”

Anger blazes in you at that. You are trying, why can’t anyone see that? You are young, you are growing, you are too young to have a gun, too young to be a soldier. “I’m doing fine.”

“Pride will get you killed, Odin.”

“Confidence c-can save your life,” is your reply. You’re not sure if you believe it.

“Ah,” Olai drawls, hands still tickling at his gun, and you feel like your life is flashing before your eyes. He is coming closer, and he is so _tall_ , you want to weep. You don’t because you are tough, you are becoming a soldier, and confidence will save your life. Your brother feeds on weakness, and you know he can see it in your eyes.

He stands above you now, and he crouches down to be at your eye level. He takes the gun out of your hand, fingers dancing sick across your skin when he does, and he smiles like a shark. “We will train more tonight.”

Your life flashes before your eyes.)

(Olai makes you visit his bedroom often, or at least whenever you show him that you’ve become drowned in pride, which _is_ often now.

And he lays you on his bed, and he’s above you, and he is your superior, he is training you how to be a soldier in _every_ way. His hands slice like knives across you, and if you feel sick the entire time, you swallow it down. But you will never learn to swallow your pride; you wear it like armour.)

(You kill your first man when you are twelve.

Blood is on your hands, blood is on your clothes, and the gun was too light, the trigger was too fast, and it was a mission, it was your job, he was a so-called bad guy, but now a man is dead because of you. And your brother’s voices crackles in your headset, purrs sweetly, “Good job, brother. But next time, make it bloodier. I like to see them in pain,” and he laughs, and you want to rip his heart out. You want him to be the man laying at your feet, heart dead-stopped, bullet in him. But he is your superior, and he is family.

You finish your mission because you are a soldier.)

(But you are not a very good soldier. Your aim is less than impressive, your brother is an unbeatable king at everything, your sister is second best, and you are—

Unworthy of the name **Arrow**. You know it, they know it, your mother and father know it. You want to become nothing to everyone; rip the name from your self, become nameless.

 _Odin. I am just Odin. I have never been anything more than that. I never will be_. 

Sometimes, when your brother is away from the training room, you hold the gun pointed at the targets. And you imagine what it’d be like  if you just flipped it around, you put it to your head, your fingers licking at the trigger, and in just one second you could pull it and you could—)

(Your stutter gets worse. It is as if a higher power is all but begging you to shut up, to learn your place, to just stop trying. But pride is a sin you know too well.

And when you speak to him, your brother laughs. Makes fun of you, picks at the way the words fall out of your mouth, and it just makes it worse. The only way you could beat him before was to paint yourself in a mask, pretend that he did not affect you, but now it is gone with your jagged words, and you are vulnerable.

When he makes you speak his name in his bedroom, you do not stutter at all, and his smile burns at your mind for days.)

You are eighteen; you’ve been a soldier all your life; you are still just as worthless.

You are failing your mission, you have a wrecked ship, and you are stranded with a religious maniac. Your sisters tell you your brother is furious. You know how ugly he can be when he is furious—how he ravages for you to this day.

You’ve been taught to be a soldier all your life, but you have never learned how to be a good one.


End file.
